a shot rings out from the cold.
a dark and endless silence
follows in the concussive aftermath.
a shadow in the light of
a streetlamp with a form
so amorphous, it can hardly
be called a form at all.
no blood flows from the dark.
no wincing cries from
a body in pain echoes from
the shadow just beyond the
yellow glow of the streetlamp.
no shuffling of feet, no
pounding steps of a fleeing gait.
just a memory
etched into the air.